Chapter 3
I stood in front of the office door, tools in hand.
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Noah was asleep down the hall.
The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator and the beating of my own heart.
I looked at the doorknob.
A standard deadbolt.
Nothing fancy.
I could break it.
But then what?
Ryan would come home and see the damage.
He'd know immediately.
And Diane...
Diane would use it against me.
She'd tell Ryan I was crazy.
Paranoid.
Unfit to be a mother.
I lowered the tools.
There had to be another way.
I thought about what Noah had said.
Diane goes in there every night after I fall asleep.
Every night.
So she must come back tomorrow.
She'd left earlier saying she'd be back.
Maybe I could wait.
Watch her.
See where she keeps the key when she's not using it.
Or maybe...
Maybe I could find a spare.
Ryan was meticulous about things like that.
He always kept spares.
I thought about where he might hide one.
Not in the office.
That would be stupid.
Somewhere else in the house.
Somewhere only he knew.
I walked to our bedroom.
Our bedroom.
The room we'd shared for ten years.
The room where we'd made love.
Where we'd cried.
Where we'd planned our future together.
Now it felt like a stranger's room.
I started searching.
Checked the usual places first.
Under the mattress.
In the back of the closet.
Inside his sock drawer.
Nothing.
I thought harder.
Ryan had a system.
Everything had its place.
He hated chaos.
Where would he hide something important?
Something that could destroy everything?
I looked at the bookshelf in our bedroom.
Ryan loved old books.
First editions.
Leather-bound.
He kept them on the top shelf, behind glass.
I climbed up.
Pulled out a copy of "The Great Gatsby."
Ryan's favorite.
I flipped through it.
Nothing.
Next book.
"To Kill a Mockingbird."
Nothing.
Third book.
"1984."
I opened it.
Something fell out.
Fluttered to the floor.
A small brass key.
Taped to the inside back cover.
My hands were shaking as I picked it up.
It matched the one Diane had shown me.
Exactly.
I climbed down from the shelf.
Held the key in my palm.
It was warm from being inside the book.
Ryan had hidden it here.
In his favorite book.
Where he thought I'd never look.
Because I never touched his precious collection.
I walked back to the office door.
Heart pounding.
I inserted the key.
It turned with a soft click.
The door swung open.
The room was dark.
I flipped on the light.
And froze.
The office looked normal.
At first.
A desk.
A computer.
Bookshelves.
A leather chair.
But then I saw the details.
The desk drawers were all slightly ajar.
Like someone had been rummaging through them.
The computer monitor was warm.
Even though Ryan had been gone for three weeks.
And the bookshelf...
The bookshelf behind the desk was different.
One of the shelves was slightly lower than the others.
Like it had been moved recently.
I walked to the desk first.
The computer was asleep.
I touched the mouse.
The screen lit up.
No password.
Ryan always used a password.
Always.
He was paranoid about security.
Or so I thought.
The desktop was clean.
A few folders.
Nothing suspicious.
I opened the file explorer.
Recent files.
A long list appeared.
Most were work documents.
Spreadsheets.
Presentations.
But then I saw it.
A folder labeled "Personal."
I clicked on it.
It was empty.
Or so it seemed.
I checked the hidden files.
Nothing.
But the folder had been modified today.
Today.
Diane had been in here today.
Before I came home early.
She'd deleted something.
Or moved it.
I opened the desk drawers.
The top one contained pens, paper clips, a stapler.
Ordinary office supplies.
The second drawer held files.
Old tax returns.
Insurance policies.
The third drawer...
The third drawer was locked.
I tried the key from the book.
It didn't fit.
Different lock.
I looked around the desk.
Underneath.
Taped to the underside of the drawer was a Post-it note.
A series of numbers.
4-8-15-16-23-42.
I recognized them immediately.
Our anniversary.
Noah's birthday.
The year we met.
Ryan's lucky numbers.
I pulled the drawer out as far as it would go.
There was a small combination lock on the side.
I dialed the numbers.
4. 8. 15. 16. 23. 42.
The lock clicked open.
I pulled the drawer all the way out.
And gasped.
Inside was a second phone.
Not Ryan's work phone.
Not his personal phone that I knew about.
A different one.
Black.
Sleek.
Newer than his other phones.
I picked it up.
It was on.
No passcode.
I opened the messages.
My heart stopped.
Hundreds of texts.
All from the same number.
All from someone named "Elena."
"I miss you."
"When are you coming back?"
"She can't find out about us."
"The baby is kicking."
The baby.
The baby is kicking.
I dropped the phone.
It clattered against the bottom of the drawer.
My husband had another woman.
And she was pregnant.
I leaned against the desk.
My legs gave out.
I slid to the floor.
The room spun.
Ten years of marriage.
A son.
A life we'd built together.
All of it a lie.
I thought about the business trip.
Three weeks.
Maybe he wasn't at a conference at all.
Maybe he was with her.
Maybe he was with his other family.
I forced myself to stand up.
I had to know more.
I picked up the phone again.
Scrolling through the messages.
They went back six months.
Six months of lies.
"I told Sarah I'm going to Chicago for the week. I'll be with you instead."
"Diane is helping me keep everything in order. She knows about us."
"Don't worry, baby. I'm taking care of the finances. Sarah will never see a dime."
Diane knew.
Diane had known all along.
She'd been helping him.
Helping him cheat.
Helping him steal from me.
Helping him destroy our family.
I kept scrolling.
Found photos.
Photos of Ryan and Elena together.
Smiling.
Kissing.
Photos of her pregnant belly.
Photos of them at a beach house I'd never seen before.
A beach house in Malibu.
Ryan had always said he hated California.
Said it was too fake.
Too expensive.
Too... everything.
But there he was.
Looking happier than I'd ever seen him.
I closed the messages.
Opened the contacts.
Only one number saved.
Elena.
I opened the call log.
Dozens of calls.
Some lasting hours.
The most recent one was yesterday.
Yesterday.
While I was at work.
While Noah was at school.
While Diane was supposed to be "helping" at our house.
I put the phone back in the drawer.
I needed to see what else was there.
Behind the phone was a stack of documents.
I pulled them out.
Bank statements.
From an account I'd never heard of.
An account in Ryan's name only.
The balance...
I stared at the number.
$427,893.14.
Nearly half a million dollars.
Where had he gotten that kind of money?
I looked at the deposits.
Regular transfers from our joint account.
Every month.
For the past two years.
$5,000 here.
$10,000 there.
Small enough that I wouldn't notice.
But over time...
Over time, it added up.
He'd been siphoning money from us.
From our family.
From Noah's future.
To fund his other life.
I found more documents.
A deed to that beach house in Malibu.
Purchased six months ago.
Cash.
A life insurance policy.
On me.
$2 million.
Ryan was the sole beneficiary.
The policy was taken out three months ago.
Three months ago.
I felt sick.
My own husband had taken out a life insurance policy on me.
For $2 million.
And he was cheating on me.
And stealing from me.
And his mother was helping him.
What else were they planning?
I put the documents back.
Closed the drawer.
Locked it.
I stood up.
Looked at the bookshelf again.
The one with the shelf that was slightly lower.
I walked over to it.
Pushed on the shelf.
It moved.
Easily.
Like it was on hinges.
I pushed harder.
The entire shelf swung open.
May you like
Revealing a wall safe.
Hidden behind the books.
